


You Can't Fix Me

by TheFutureUnseen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Dark, F/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFutureUnseen/pseuds/TheFutureUnseen
Summary: After the events of the Last Jedi, Kylo Ren reflects on the past which just won't die no matter how many times he tries to kill it.TLJ SPOILERS (obviously)





	1. You Can't Fix Me

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that much of this piece is very dark and contains a lot of self-hatred. This is basically my response to the development of Kylo Ren/Ben Solo's character in TLJ. 
> 
> Fair warning: this has not been beta'ed. Hopefully it doesn't have too many errors.

He sat quietly in the med bay. There was nothing but her voice in his head. Her voice and that choice he had made. _“Don’t do this, Ben. Don’t go this way,”_ she had said to him. He could still hear the break in her voice, still hear her desperate words quivering through his mind - through his defenses.

Just when he managed to set himself free and push her voice into the darkest recesses, her eyes would emerge. Those hazel eyes that had looked at him with such pain, such hope. He saw them as clear as they had been when she shut the Falcon’s door on _him_ , on their connection. Had those hazel eyes wavered for a moment in their resolve? No, it had been final, definitive, deafening. She had rejected him entirely from her being. Yet somehow he could not find it in himself to do the same. He was too weak, too desperate for her presence - for that calm clarity he only felt when she was near, whispering his name like a prayer. _Ben..._

When she said it, he could almost imagine that boy again. Ben Solo. That boy he had been before all of this. Before everyone had abandoned him. Before Luke had betrayed him. He had been a boy, just a _boy _,__ and _ _Snoke…__  

Bile filled his mouth at the thought of his former master. The sick twisted way he had learned to view himself through Snoke’s lens until he both hated and feared himself, his weakness, his indecision.

But he hadn’t felt indecision with her. _Rey._ She ignited a spark within him, something old and forgotten. Something barely formed, stunted in his youth. A yearning so vast and deep that he stood on the precipice begging her. Please. For what he did not know. Only that if they stayed together all could be right, all could be good.

He’d offered her everything. Everything he had to give and she had thrown it back in his face. How could she do that? _You’re not alone. Neither are you._ But he was alone. So alone, trapped in this prison that was Kylo Ren. Trapped in this fortress he had created around himself… to protect himself? To shield? To cage? He did not know. The mask had been in place for too long. A response to the trauma he had endured.

Sometimes he saw Ben trapped in the darkness, huddled in a ball, alone. His frail sickly form as young as the day Snoke had found him. He looked down at that weak boy in shame and disgust, the way Snoke had taught him... but then he _was_ that boy laying on the cold black glass, staring up at the broad, masked figure of Kylo Ren. Fear quaked through him. Fear choked the breath from his lungs, the moisture from his eyes, the noise from his ears. Then he was neither Kylo nor Ben and yet both of them and his disgust and fear boiled down into rage, deep rage that ripped from his throat like a storm. Rage against the family that had loved him from afar, feared him before he was formed, and left his stripped bare for Snoke to wrap his talons into his naked flesh as easily as sticking a knife through butter.  

Snoke was dead now. He should feel free, but all he felt was numb. Emptiness. Confusion. His mind was eerily quiet now that his master no longer whispered obsidian into his thoughts. It was his own for the first time in years. Yet the quiet only emphasized the fissure in his soul. Snoke’s death didn’t heal the breach between Kylo Ren and Ben Solo. No one could do that. Not even Rey. Though he had hoped she would.

_Hope._ His lips twisted into a cruel shape. He should have known better than to hope. She opened up something inside of him, a truth he had forgotten or chosen to forget. It wasn’t formed. It wasn’t a thought, but a feeling, pulsating somewhere between his ribcage. What was it? It seemed to slip through his fingers as easily as sand, but not when she was around. When she stood before him, that truth was as bright as the sun. Still he could not name it. She could not name it.

His lips trembled and he sucked in breath at his own weakness. The wall next to him exploded as his fist connected with the metal and the glass. He didn’t shield himself and he felt his bones crack on impact. 

A broken sob escaped him and he sunk to the ground. His head pushed against the remnants of the wall as he tried to fight the moisture from his eyes. Who was he? In this moment? Ben Solo? Kylo Ren? _Let the past die._ He had tried, but it reared its head again and again and again… and as frail and weak as Ben Solo appeared in his mind, he was a permanent fixture, a stain on his soul.  

He felt her presence before she ever uttered a word. That strange, peaceful quiet descended and her scent filled the room like the fragrance of roses and cinnamon that clung to her in person. His muscles tensed and he trapped his breath in his lungs. She would not hear his wracked breathing. She would not know his weakness. She was the enemy. She had chosen that.

“Ben?” Her voice brought him fully into the room. He was still on the floor his fractured hand curled against his stomach. “ _Weak,_ ” he could still hear Snoke’s slithering whisper like an echo through time. Or was it Luke’s voice? Or Han’s? Or his own? He didn’t know. They all haunted him. 

He rose swiftly from the ground his muscles bunched, defensive, but he didn’t turn around, didn’t want to face her, didn’t want to see her.

“Ben,” she whispered and the rustle of fabric brought her closer to him. He had lied. He had never wanted anything so much in this world as he wanted to see her again. To look at the slant of her face and the softness in her eyes. Still, he did not turn around. How could he? Emotions raged within him. He choked on them. On the shame Ben Solo felt at the hurt he had caused those she loved. On the rage Kylo Ren felt over her refusal. On the self-hatred - the only thing they could both agree on. It was too much. She was tearing him apart, putting him back together.

“Why are you here?” He finally found the strength to breathe out, his eyes glued to the hole in the wall he had made with his fist. The burning in his hand matched the searing pain in his chest.

“You cried out,” she said simply as if that was enough, “I heard you.” 

He shook his head. The muscles in his jaw pulled tight, bunching. It wasn’t enough. “Why are you _here _?”__

She moved again and he could feel the heat of her behind him as if she truly stood mere inches away. He yearned to turn around and look, but he didn’t. It was the last form of control he had. The _only_ thing he had. This choice to not look at her.

But what did it matter? He saw her clearly enough in his mind’s eye. He had pictured her enough times, conjured her image. She came as easily to him as breathing. But that was different. That wasn’t really Rey. He could control the look she gave him, the emotions she held in her eyes. In the image he conjured, he would never have to face the disgust she surely felt. So he still could not bring himself to look, to see what really lay behind those hazel orbs. 

“You’re hurt,” her voice was closer this time, barely a whisper, a breeze against the black fabric of his tunic. “I felt it,” she murmured, but it still wasn’t enough. She hadn’t answered him. Not really. 

He opened his mouth to repeat his question once more, but all that came out was a choked gasp as her hand rested gently on his bicep sending fire racing up his arm. He wasn’t sure if the sound he made was more snarl or groan or sob. It stuck to his tongue even as her fingers tightened, willing him to turn around.

It was all true. Everything they had ever said. He was weak. More weak than he could possibly have imagined. He couldn’t resist her. His body moved of its own accord, twisting with her guidance until he had turned fully around to face her.

He closed his eyes. He wouldn’t allow himself to see her face. He couldn’t… not after what he had said. _Blow that piece of junk out of the sky._ He hadn’t meant it. He didn’t think anyone was listening, but they were. Oh god, they were. He swallowed hard and fisted his hands. The pain in his right smarted. If he saw her face he would surely break. Break into a thousand tiny pieces, his divided soul smote asunder by her sheer goodness.

“Ben,” she said his name like a prayer and the ghost of her fingertips danced across his face. His lips parted and he leaned instinctively into her touch. A dying man desperate for water. “Ben, look at me. Please.”

_Please._ It echoed in his brain as broken as his own. He couldn’t resist her. He opened his dark eyes and met her own. His chest spasmed and he sucked in air through his teeth. She was so close he could see the freckle in her left eye. He hadn’t noticed it before now. He let out a long breath, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Why are you here?” He asked again, his voice barely a whisper. It wasn’t accusation that coursed through his question this time, but disbelief. Sheer and crippling.

“Because you’re not alone.” Rey breathed out. Her voice as quiet as his. She took another step forward till barely air stood between them and looked up. Her eyes shining. Her fingers traced the scar on his face, searing his skin. His breath caught sharply in his throat.

“Rey, I can’t-- I don’t-- I’m-- I’m nothing. No one.” His eyes ripped away as the admission poured from his lips. The truth rang loudly. He wasn’t Ben Solo or Kylo Ren. He was neither and both and everything in between and nothing. He was nothing. He was broken. 

“Not to me.” She repeated his words back to him, drawing his face, his gaze, back to her. “Not to me.”

Hope flooded his chest painfully and with it came a million more doubts which piled up until that small sliver of future was crushed from the weight of his uncertainty. _You’re weak. Hope is weak. Everyone leaves. Everyone betrays. Everyone abandons._ The familiar words swirled in his mind. Whether they were things he had been taught or had taught himself he no longer knew. Fighting those beliefs would take more effort than any battle he had ever fought. He didn’t know if he had the strength… but she did. She believed in him. Rey. Her eyes were unwavering. There was such softness there despite everything he had done. He didn’t deserve it. He would never deserve it.

“You can’t fix me,” He hissed, taking a step back though it cost him. His voice sounded more hostile than he meant even in his own ears. 

“I know,” Rey nodded, her body following his like a magnet. He backed away until his body could move no more, impeded by the same wall he had cracked earlier. She stood before him, glowing, a beacon. If he could just reach out and touch her... His hand twitched by his side.

“I know,” she repeated, saddened, eyes shining. There was still hope in them though. She still had hope. “Only you can heal yourself, Ben.”

The compassion he saw in her face brought him to his knees. His shins splintered, aching against the cold stone. How could she still look at him? His lips trembled as he struggled to breathe, to think, to speak. “I don’t know how-”

She sunk to the floor beside him and took his hands in her own. Slowly, she removed the black leather that bound each one. He gasped as their skin touched, as the warmth of her hands seeped into his own and she laced their fingers together. His injured hand shouted, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

She breathed deeply and said, “Snoke and Luke were wrong, Ben. There is light and darkness in _all of us _.__ You don’t have to choose the light. You just have to find the strength to not choose the darkness.”

He felt them, the tears, as they seeped from his eyes. His breath rattled in his chest. His eyes flickered down to their intertwined hands and for a moment, even if it was just that moment, he allowed himself to hope.


	2. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked for it and you got it: a secondary vignette following the first. I honestly don't know where this is going or if it can even be called a story. This will most likely will be the last 'glimpse,' but that is what I said about the first one... so who knows? Inspiration struck again and what you see below is the result. I hope you enjoy it and that it lives up to your praise of the first one. 
> 
> Again, totally unbeta-ed because for some reason I write angsty Reylo at 3am and feel the urge to publish it immediately. Sometimes my freeform gets wacky so bare with me <3

Like falling shadows and flickering light, he finds himself in bed with her. She lays recumbent on her side, facing him, bathed in the silver moonlight of eternity. Her skin glows against the roughspun cotton sheet which has slipped down about her waist. It's not explicit, the eroticism of this moment. Her body remains completely covered. The only skin which tempts his gaze are the soft planes of her face and the slope of her bare arms. Still, the things left to the imagination create a sensuality of their own. The shape of her lips. The dip of her clavicle. The curve of her neck. The shadow of her tunic where her breasts nestle together.  

His illicit gaze falters as he sees another side to this encounter, a darker side. He knows too well the vulnerability of sleep. How easily the mind can be lulled into security and those closest and dearest can pray on your weakness.

Shame sears his flesh, blinds his eye, chokes the breath from his throat. His own body's response to her nearness feels like ecstasy and treachery as one. He forces his eyes shut, unwilling to violate her confidence anymore than he already has. He cannot sever the bond, but he can respect her privacy. So he lays there, rigid, still, silent, and faces her without _seeing_ her. And, even though he knows she sleeps, it is an effort in itself just to convince his eyes to shut while another shares his space. So dark are the demons that chase him. So steady live the lies and the betrayal of his past.

His eyelids flutter in protest then fall still in silent determination. And he listens to her breath, letting it wash over him. _In. Out. In. Out._ Like the rolling of waves. The rushing of wind through the trees. The distant storm as it rumbles to shore. The sounds of nature and peace and harmony and _balance_. _In. Out. In. Out._ And he finds himself soothed beyond all reckoning. Beyond logic or reason or gentler caresses of a time long ago. He finds his eyes pricked by tears that won't fall for memories long past, long buried, long resented. And because he's listening so carefully to every change in the rhythm of her body, he knows the minute, the moment, the second she wakes and finds him besides her, in her bed, in her intimate space. _Rey._

Her breath hitches sharply, tightening a vice around the organ in his chest. The one he cannot name. And for the span of three beats, three pumps of blood, three pulses of that traitorous muscle, no sound reaches his ear. Then a slow, low exhale brushes gently over the planes of his face and he can't help the sigh that escapes his own tightly pressed lips. A shadow of her breath. A mirror of their connection.  

"Ben?" She whispers barely formed words that ride the gentle airwaves of her exhalation. "Are you awake?"

He tries to pretend, tries to slow the quickening of his pulse, the fluttering of his chest, but it is as fruitless as stopping the rain or the flood or the Force. So his eyes slid open and hazel encompasses his vision. And he realizes it's been too long since he last looked into those eyes. The greens and golds and browns give way to pupils so wide that he feels he might fall and never notice the sweet descent.  

He knows he should speak, should make some apology… though for what he is not sure. He can no more control the force, this _thing_ between them, this _bond_ , than she. Still, the atonement rests on his lips and if he is honest with himself, which is rare, the forgiveness he seeks requires so much more than this night. And this moment which will soon be no more than a memory. 

"Ben," her sigh carries his name. That same name, always like a prayer, which brings him back to flowers and waterfalls, to falcons soaring through sky and through space, to a mother’s warm embrace, a father’s gruff praise, and an uncle’s admiration. To a seed that grows inside him, sinister and sure. Ever stronger as those familiar comforts fade away into nothingness, into disappointment, into a new name that is as foul as the seed that has born it.

Her hand brushes along his cheek, carrying with it a tear. His tear. His shame. His weakness. It crumbles like the fabric of his split soul. He hates every part of it. But she won't let him.

Before he can dive into that deep, dark abyss, she wraps her strong arms around him, drawing him close, close, closer still. And it's the most beautiful, the most cherished he's ever felt… though he cannot explain why.  

Maybe it's the sound of her own tears that soothes him, tears for a soul that he had all but forgotten he possessed. Or maybe it's the way she's smooths the tension from his back with firm strokes of comfort. Or the smell of her hair. Of hot sun, and cool water, and verdant, abundant life.  

The intimacy of the moment, of her embrace stagers him. Leaves him raw and bleeding. But it’s not a mortal wound. It is a wound meant for healing. A wound to let out the humors of the past. To mend the mistakes of the present. And to care for the scars of the future.

He makes a silent vow to her then: That in whatever time the Force has granted them, no matter how far they travel or for however long their destinies are entwined… he will wash and tend the puckered, red scars of his soul and of hers until they are no more than soft, white lines, reminding them of the places they have been and the people who they were before they found each other.


End file.
